


Permanent Marks

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - All Media Types, Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Comeplay, M/M, Nevactacus, Smut, Tattoos, tattoo worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22196257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: A request for tattoo worship
Relationships: Caractacus Potts/Nevada Ramirez
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34
Collections: Nevactacus





	Permanent Marks

Nevada was lying on his back with his right arm bent up under his head on the pillow. His hair was damp from his shower. His skin still had a bit of flush from the heat; Nevada liked his showers _hot_ , almost too hot for Caractacus to bear.

“Like what ya see?” Nevada asked with a smirk, and Caractacus realized he was standing in the middle of the bedroom, staring. He raised his gaze to Nevada’s and swallowed at the predatory gleam in Nevada’s eyes.

“I think you know the answer by now,” Caractacus said.

Nevada shifted his legs. He was naked, painted in light and shadow; he knew he looked good. His gold cross glinted against a bed of black curls. “Gonna do somethin about it?”

Caractacus ran his gaze over Nevada’s body, scarcely sure where to start. His eyes landed on the tribal tattoo that covered Nevada’s shoulder, curled over and around his left pec, and reached down his bicep. Nevada moved his left hand to his stomach in a casually-deliberate motion that highlighted the way the dark ink accentuated the lines and dips of his muscles.

Nevada had been pleasantly surprised to discover how much Caractacus liked his tattoos. Caractacus had been a little surprised, too. He’d never thought of himself as a tattoo guy, but there was something about the sight of that black ink—crisp lines and perfect curves—against Nevada’s skin, the way it stood out in stark contrast until it dipped down to just shy of his left nipple and seemed almost to fade into the dark curls of chest hair.

“S’rude to stare,” Nevada said. Caractacus ignored his insolent tone and walked over to the bed, letting his gaze drift lower until it landed on the smaller tattoo on the inside of Nevada’s right hip, over the line of his pelvic bone. Brass knuckles; the subject was directly related to the scar beneath Nevada’s eye, a detail that he’d let slip one night after too much whiskey, but the tattoo itself wasn’t as important as its location.

That line, that indentation, was one of the most sensitive parts of Nevada’s body, up near the top of the list with his nipples—also delightfully sensitive. Nevada would never admit it and, in fact, often tried to distract Caractacus with other body parts. He was doing it now, flexing his left arm so that the light of the lamp got caught in the lines of the larger tattoo.

It wasn’t that Nevada didn’t want Caractacus to focus on the smaller tattoo. He just wanted to give the impression that he didn’t. They both knew that Caractacus wasn’t fooled, and they both knew that he would willingly play along.

Caractacus stripped out of his pajamas, feeling the familiar rush of pleasure when Nevada’s gaze raked hungrily over his skin. “Maybe I should get a tattoo,” Caractacus said, running a hand over his own chest.

“No,” Nevada answered.

“No? Why not?”

“Quit fishin for compliments and put your mouth to use,” Nevada said, inching his hand down his stomach until his fingers were poked into his thick, dark curls of pubic hair.

“Oh?” Caracatacus asked, crawling onto the bed to straddle Nevada’s thighs. “You were thinking complimentary things?”

“Course not.”

“Yeah, I know,” Caractacus said with a smile. “You don’t like me at all.” He put his hands on Nevada’s hips and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the middle of his stomach, just above Nevada’s wrist and below the gold cross. He followed the trail of hair upward, licking lightly at Nevada’s skin, nosing the necklace aside. He moved his hands to the bed to support himself and Nevada nudged playfully at his wrist with his left elbow, forcing Caractacus to shift his weight so he wouldn’t fall over.

His cock, half-hard, rubbed against Nevada’s knuckles between their bodies. Nevada wiggled his fingers. Caractacus ignored him, continuing to kiss his way up Nevada’s chest, swirling his tongue in the soft hair above his right nipple.

“Missed,” Nevada said.

Caractacus ignored him, and ignored the nipple, shifting to his right toward Nevada’s left side. Caractacus trailed open-mouthed kisses over the warm, hairy skin, stopping just short of the other nipple and swerving above it to find the edge of the tattoo with his tongue. 

“Missed again.”

Caractacus followed the curve of ink with his mouth, occasionally nipping lightly at Nevada’s skin. He paused halfway up Nevada’s pec, lifting his head to survey his work: the way the dark ink now gleamed wetly in the glow of the lamp, the way the skin around the pattern was slightly pinked.

“Enjoying yourself?” Nevada asked. He reached around Caractacus’s ass with one hand, fingers sliding down to poke idly at his opening. Caractacus ignored him, eyeing the tattoo. Before he could resume his ministrations, Nevada lifted his other hand and pressed two fingers to Caractacus’s lips.

Caractacus opened his mouth without hesitation, obediently wetting Nevada’s fingers. Then he ducked his head and continued wetting the dark lines of ink as they curved up over Nevada’s shoulder. He paused only briefly, hissing in a quick breath, when Nevada shoved both spit-slick fingers into his ass without warning.

That was payback for ignoring him.

Caractacus continued down the slope of Nevada’s shoulder, taking time to relish the way Nevada’s bicep bunched and flexed against his mouth while Nevada fingered his ass. He could feel Nevada’s erection pinned between their bodies, just barely touching his own, and he wiggled a bit to press them more firmly together. Nevada brushed a finger over his prostate in response, and Caractacus smothered his involuntary moan against Nevada’s arm.

He could feel Nevada’s smugness at getting a reaction, so Caractacus shifted and pressed a kiss to the scar hidden inside the curls of the tattoo, the scar that Caractacus had first discovered by accident while admiring—up close and personal, like he was now—the dark pattern.

Nevada’s breath hitched in his chest when Caractacus’s lips found the old wound. It was right at the line between pec and shoulder, dipping into the valley between muscles. Without the tattoo, it would be just barely visible at the edge of a tank top; with the tattoo, it was unnoticeable from a distance.

Caractacus hadn’t asked about the scar. He didn’t need to ask to know that it was different from all the others. Most of Nevada’s scars were worn like badges of honor. This one was hidden inside an elaborate tattoo, and Caractacus knew it wasn’t a coincidence. The way Nevada had grown momentarily still the first time Caractacus traced a curious finger over the mark was enough of a tell.

Caractacus didn’t linger. He’d gotten a reaction for a reaction, and that was enough. He ran his tongue over Nevada’s chest, and Nevada’s fingers started moving again, spreading him wider, loosening him up. Caractacus closed his mouth over Nevada’s nipple and flicked it with his tongue a few times before catching the bud between his teeth.

He got another graze over his prostate for his effort, and his erection was already hot and throbbing against Nevada’s.

“Think I might get a new one,” Nevada said. His tone was suspiciously nonchalant. Caractacus lifted his head to look at him, and Nevada added, “Tattoo.” He smiled at the look of interest that had already lit Caractacus’s face.

“Where?”

Nevada chuckled. He reached up to grab the lube from the nightstand. “Got a suggestion?”

Caractacus didn’t care that he’d allowed Nevada to bait him into responding. “You want me to name a spot so you can find the most opposite place possible?”

Nevada flashed his teeth in a grin. He pulled his fingers from Caractacus’s ass and blindly added lube, circling his fingertips around Caractacus’s opening and inside the ring of muscle. “Might take your idea,” he said. His tone was teasing, but there was something serious in his eyes that gave Caractacus pause.

“Really?”

Nevada tossed the bottle aside and Caractacus levered himself up a bit so Nevada could lube his own erection. “Long’s you don’t want me to have a plaid dick.”

Caractacus smiled dutifully, but he searched Nevada’s face for a few seconds. “Would it be for me?” he asked. He knew he was running the risk of ruining the moment; Nevada already looked uncomfortable.

Nevada shrugged his tattooed shoulder against the pillow. Caractacus’s saliva had already dried everywhere except Nevada’s hardened nipple. “You’re the only one gonna see it.” He cleared his throat but didn’t quite rid his voice of its gruffness. “’Less it’s somewhere—”

Caractacus leaned up and kissed him. Nevada’s lips were surprisingly soft and undemanding, and he let Caractacus lick tentatively into his mouth to explore. Nevada reached down and fingered Caractacus’s hole again, stretching him open, his fingers less gentle than his mouth.

Caractacus propped his elbows on Nevada’s chest and threaded his hands into his wet hair, tilting his head so he could kiss him more thoroughly. Nevada had never been so passive before, had never allowed Caractacus so much control, and Caractacus took full advantage as he claimed the other man’s mouth.

Nevada reached under Caractacus to position himself and pressed the head of his cock against Caractacus’s opening, pausing as soon as his crown had forced its way inside. He clamped an arm across Caractacus’s hips so Caractacus couldn’t push himself back.

Caractacus pulled away from Nevada’s mouth reluctantly and braced his hands on Nevada’s shoulders, levering himself up so his back was arched. He looked at Nevada, the anticipation building as Nevada still didn’t move.

Caractacus let his palms slide against Nevada’s chest, splaying his hand over the tattoo until he could feel the faint ridge of the scar against a fingertip.

“You’re a sap, _Chiflado_ ,” Nevada accused. He took his arm from Caractacus’s lower back and grabbed him by both hips instead, his hands warm and firm. “Gonna fuck some sense into you.”

“I guess it’s worth a try,” Caractacus said, and Nevada grinned up at him.

Nevada held Caractacus’s hips and filled him with one quick, smooth thrust. Caractacus choked back his cry, curling his fingers into Nevada’s chest as he struggled to keep himself upright. He knew Nevada liked to see his face.

Nevada only gave him a few seconds to acclimate before moving, keeping Caractacus in a firm grip and fucking him hard and fast, driving into his prostate with relentless precision. Caractacus couldn’t keep himself silent, releasing a whining hum with every thrust. The head of his cock dragged against Nevada’s happy trail, already leaking into the dark curls.

“You gonna come?” Nevada asked. His voice was rough, uneven, and the sound went straight to Caractacus’s groin.

He reached down and grabbed himself, squeezing hard to stall the orgasm that almost caught him by surprise. Another hit against his prostate made him cry out and squeeze even harder, scrunching his eyes shut as he panted. 

Nevada stopped, half-buried in Caractacus’s ass. “No?”

“Mmm,” Caractacus answered. Even he wasn’t sure what the sound meant.

“Come.”

“You already showered,” Caractacus said, gasping in the middle of the last word when Nevada gave his hips a little wiggle.

“You can clean me up,” Nevada said, but the words barely registered as Caractacus tried desperately to control his throbbing cock. “Open your eyes,” Nevada said after a few seconds, and the command in his voice broke through the fog of desire. Caractacus blinked his face into focus. “ _Tatúame_.”

Caractacus groaned, releasing himself carefully. A hot pulse traveled up his length, beading white at his tip. Nevada flexed his hips and Caractacus came, untouched, shooting himself across Nevada’s stomach. The pearly strands shimmered as they clung to the dark curls of hair.

Nevada continued to move, holding Caractacus in place. His thrusts were slower, gentler, grazing Caractacus’s prostate. Caractacus realized Nevada meant to draw the torture out—for both of them—for as long as possible, but Caractacus knew a trick or two of his own.

His body was shivering, his hands shaking, but he managed to swirl two fingers into the mess he’d made on Nevada’s stomach. He slopped the cum directly onto the brass knuckles tattoo inside Nevada’s hip, tracing the dark outline with slick fingers.

Nevada bucked involuntarily, and he came hard with a surprised curse. His fingers dug into Caractacus’s waist with enough force to leave bruises, but Caractacus barely noticed as he tightened around Nevada’s cock.

Caractacus ran his finger long the crease of Nevada’s V, smearing the mess, and smiled when Nevada shivered beneath him.

Nevada reached a hand up and grabbed a fistful of Caractacus’s hair, pulling him forward, and Caractacus dropped down onto his chest without resistance. “Fuckin sap,” Nevada growled before crushing Caractacus’s lips to his.

“Mmhm,” Caractacus agreed into the kiss.


End file.
